


Untitled 1 and 2

by phaelsafe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:44:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phaelsafe/pseuds/phaelsafe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These were supposed to be prompts that turned into -- ficlets, whatever? -- and I'll take these down if the promptee ever does finish them. There's a dearth of Michael!Dean fic out there.  (I don't know how to turn off the completed work tag, sorry.)</p><p>Untitled 1: Dean says yes to Michael, and Sam is running Camp Chitaque instead; end!verse; Michael!Dean/Cas; ~650 words</p><p>Untitled 2: Michael steals Cas' vessel in order to convince Dean; late season 5; Cas/Michael/Dean; ~1450 words</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled 1 and 2

\-- Untitled 1-- 

Kicking his boots up onto the table, Cas settles himself, an unyielding line in the chair. He offers Sam the joint. 

"Cas..." the hunter sighs. He shakes his head in frustration, then whirls on his heel and stomps off into the night. 

The silence folds in around him, warm and humid. Cas stares down at his hands at the smoldering cherry as it casts a slight glow that catches on the edges of the room. He watches it burn uselessly into the air and contemplates finding something stronger. Instead, he brings the tip to his lips and inhales more of the sweet-sour smoke into his lungs, glaring at the empty doorway, the space sullen even without Sam's presence- 

"Hello, Castiel," says a low, familiar voice -- one he hasn't heard in ages -- from close behind him. 

He freezes, eyes darting down to the joint as he reconsiders the potency. "Just Cas," he manages to choke out. 

Fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting into the dark strands then yanking his head back hard enough that Cas has to flail if he wants to maintain his balance. The balls of his feet land on the edge of the table as his chair tilts back on two legs, and Cas finds himself staring up into the shadowed eyes of the last person he expected to see leaning over him. 

A mouth claims his, teeth nipping gently at his upper lip. A tongue slips along his, then it's gone almost as quickly. Another hand slides along his cheek, thumb pressing into his jaw and forcing his jaw to open up, and the breath is suddenly sucked out of him. 

He's reeling by the time the other man straightens up and back out of sight, and Cas pants, sucking much-needed oxygen back into his abused lungs. Trying to recover his breath, he bows his head forward. 

A sharp exhale then a cough sounds behind Cas, followed shortly by a "Dear God, that stuff is terrible..." then the palm cupping his face angles his head back once more. Cas tries to look away but fingers curve against his throat in warning. 

"Michael," Cas growls. Even with his grace reduced to almost nothing, he should've sensed the archangel's arrival; and despite everything he's gone through, his attention span has never so detrimentally waivered before. "What do you want?" 

"You and I are the only ones left. Other than Lucifer, but, well, you know." Michael shrugs his shoulders before teasing, "I get lonely sometimes -- Dean says hi, by the way. I can't swing by to see my little brother on occasion?" 

"No," replies Cas curtly. He extinguishes the cigarette against the back of the Michael's hand. Flesh hisses and sears from the heat, then Cas flicks the remnants into the kitchen sink. 

Michael's expression is grim with disapproval when Cas glances back up, and the ex-angel snorts: the situation is ridiculous and surreal. 

"You think this is funny," Michael says. 

"Maybe just a little-" the archangel's grace abruptly washes through him, burning the drugs out of his system in a rapturous wave of purity and _love,_ feeling as much like Dean as it does Michael. 

Cas is left gasping in its wake. He'd nearly forgotten what an angel's Grace felt like, and he'd been too far removed from the light of Dean's soul for so long.... "I'm not an angel anymore." 

"Oh, quit hiding, Castiel." Michael tilts his head and smirks. "I feel your Grace tucked neatly away inside, you clever little thing. How are you doing that anyway?" 

Cas frowns up at his brother. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Maybe," Michael says, his smile dropping away. The keen glint in his eye brightens though. "Or maybe you just need to be coaxed back to your former glory."  


\--Untitled 2 --

The stupid light over the porch flickers then dies. Dean growls as he attempts to fit the key into the lock in the dark. "Who doesn't use key-cards these days?" 

He gets it on the third try and bumps the door open with his hip. The heavy weight of his and Sam's duffle bags drag at his shoulders, and Dean's arms are full of casefiles. 

His brother found a twenty-four hour coffee shop with free wifi and decided to try to get more research done, since the only motel with an opening lacked any form of internet connection. Lucifer is proving harder to find than they thought, and Dean isn't coping well with Sam's plan to fight off the Devil from inside. 

He edges through the jamb sideways, rotating around to kick the door shut. Dean haphazardly shuffles the folders onto the little table just past the entryway, drops the bags to the floor, then realizes someone is sitting on the bed. He recognizes the silhouette instantly. "Cas." 

"Hello, Dean," comes the reply as the hunter flicks the lights on. 

A disarming smile spreads across the angel's face -- so, not Cas. "...Jimmy?" 

"Jimmy isn't here anymore -- hasn't been since Raphael destroyed this body. Do you need a third try?" the being asks. His amusement ripples through the room with an oppressive edge. 

"Michael." Dean backs away slowly, then lunges for the door; though he realizes, anything that could force Castiel from his vessel could easily catch Dean before he passed over the threshold. And sure enough, the archangel suddenly has Dean by the back of the neck, and he's slammed into the door. "Jesus -- what, do you guys just get off on knocking me into walls or something?" 

Michael covers Dean's hands with his own, tangling their fingers together as he brackets the hunter into place with his unnatural strength. Pushing into Dean's space, Michael rolls his hips- 

"That's a definite yes," Dean says cautiously. He presses himself flush against the door, trying to create some -- any -- distance between them. 

Michael follows, immediately erasing the gap. He turns his face into the warm curve of Dean's neck, lips ghosting a path up to his ear. "Something like that," he breathes out. 

A shiver races down his spine. Dean can _feel_ Michael's power threatening to surge past the boundaries of the fragile, poorly fitted vessel as it reaches out to him, tries to find a conduit into his body. 

"Say yes." 

"No," Dean says, shaking his head. "What did you do to Cas?" 

"Nothing. He's- around here somewhere, unharmed" Michael says, and as if on cue, the building rumbles a warning around them. "I can just wear this vessel until it gives out. Then, I'll ask Sam; and when he agrees to what you won't -- and he will-" 

Every piece of glass in the room shatters, and the hotel plunges into darkness. Car alarms in the parking lot sound off as the ground quakes. 

"Apparently, Cas has something to say." Michael smiles into Dean's skin. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," the archangel continues pleasantly, "I will chase Castiel down and tear his wings off. I'll make you watch -- yank your soul up to Heaven where we won't be interrupted -- as your baby brother rips apart your rebellious angel with a smile upon his face." 

The image makes his chest constrict, but again, he answers, "No." 

The frailty in his voice is a dead giveaway though, and Michael spins him around, pins his hands up beside his head. There is no longer any sign of mirth in Michael's expression as he stares down at Dean. "Then, I'll come after you -- it will take awhile to burn through Sam's soul, his body -- but I won't ever give up, Dean. Lucifer will destroy the world and everyone in it. You'll be all alone, and it will be all your fault." 

"Or, I can just haul the lot of you up to Heaven now. Hell's got nothing on what I can do. How long before you break this time?" He releases Dean and takes a few steps back. "I can already feel this body starting to deteriorate. If Castiel has any chance of escaping me, he will have to use the daughter -- Claire was it? -- such a sweet thing too, from what I understand. Pity she'll have to give her life over because of you." 

Dean feels numb as the words sink in. His knees buckle and he slides to the floor, his defenses starting to crumble under the threats of the archangel wearing his best friend's face. "Why- why are you doing this?" he tries but he barely manages a whisper. 

"Why don't you understand?" Dropping down, Michael straddles Dean's thighs, cradles his face, strokes thumbs across his cheekbones. "Dean, you're mine. You belong to me." 

There's something that runs counter to the disturbing obsession in Michael's voice. Dean recognizes it for what it is -- a mask -- as he glances up, sees it hiding in the archangel's eyes: love, sorrow, devotion... regret. Loneliness. 

There is doubt in Michael, and an idea begins to take root in his mind: if Sam can fight back, so can Dean. He has to try. "You have to promise to keep Sam and Cas safe." 

Michael starts to draw back, his eyes darting away with a sharp uncertainty that sparks hope in Dean. He wraps his fingers around Michael's wrists, refusing to let him regain his control. "Promise me -- make a proper deal -- and I'll say yes. No more Apocalypse; you can try to stop Lucifer as long as Sam is kept out of harm's way. Cas, too. You will do anything within your power." 

Slowly but surely, Michael meets Dean's gaze. "I promise." 

Dean hopes the truth he sees in the blue eyes above him isn't a bias toward Castiel's vessel- 

The floor shakes again, and Dean looks around. _Please, trust me, Cas!_

Sam is going to be so pissed at him. "Yes." 

Dean's eyes widen as Michael kisses him, then he gasps as the archangel filters in through his mouth and permeates his skin. 

Something far more ancient than Michael's grace twines around Dean and pierces the very heart of him. It is doesn't hurt so much as feel incomplete, but he jerks back, knocking his head against the door in surprise. An astonished tremor runs through Michael as he rushes into the hunter, and Dean closes his eyes against the growing light; but that radiance is shining there behind his lids. 

A searing heat flashes through him, yet goosebumps prickle along his chilled skin; a fierce yearning spreads through him even though he feels full to bursting; and the righteous fury -- the Righteous Man is utterly corrupt in comparison to the holy presence crowding inside him. 

"Dean!" 

Cas' panic cuts right into him, forcing his attention back to reality, and he blinks up at the worried face. 

Cas moves, his weight transferring across Dean's groin -- and he's hard; of course his traitorous body would consider getting amped up by an archangel erotic.... 

Overwhelmed, his eyes drift shut, which prompts hands to flutter along his face, sending sweet sparks skittering down his nerves at the sensation of grace brushing against angelic grace. His fingers are still around the wrists that now belong to Cas, but Dean's grip is too weak -- not that he could make the angel stop if he tried -- and his attempt at "Cas, God- stop..." scrapes past his throat as little more than a whine. 

Palms frame his face, angling his distracted gaze upward, and Castiel shifts again. "Dean? Oh, thank the Heavens, I thought you were-" 

"Castiel, you will cease this at once," the voice booms out of Dean, though Dean isn't voicing the words. The archangel stirs, and Dean can feel his grace trembling; Michael is just as affected by the fallout. 

Fear is evident in every line of Cas' body, and he pulls back. 

"Brother, wait," Michael pleads, clutching at the ands in his with more strength than Dean is able to muster. "I know you heard the deal. Our Father has seen fit to hold me to it." 

"Great. I collared an archangel. Go, Team Free Will," Dean adds, his voice devoid of enthusiasm.


End file.
